Echoes of Love
by Angel of Iowa
Summary: Winner of "Most Original" in the 1st annual Phantom Christmas oneshot contest. A cold night, a cup of tea, and a much-needed conversation.


**A/N: This is my entry to Not A Ghost3's Christmas oneshot contest. So, everyone wish me luck! The song I listened to while writing this is Echoes of Love, by Jesse y Joy, and this fic is inspired by it. Also, I had some concerns from my grandmother, who kind of acts as my beta reader, that there might be some confusion regarding Erik's behavior…whatever you may read into the hints of the background I give,** _ **he was not abusive towards Christine in any way, shape, or form. They just had a really bad argument.**_ **Anyway, here goes…don't own anything!**

She couldn't sleep. She had been tossing and turning all night, or at least it felt like that, but _of course_ the one night she really just needed to escape to her dreams she couldn't sleep. _Forget it,_ she thought. _There's no way I'm getting to sleep tonight. Might as well try to get some stuff done if I'm going to be up all night._ She arose from her bed, reaching for the robe hanging over the chair by her desk. Walking into the kitchen, she put the kettle on, deciding tea was the best cure for this inconvenient bout of insomnia. Groping blindly for the box in the dark, she managed to get it down without falling, which she decided was a rather impressive accomplishment, considering her current state of physical and emotional exhaustion. The kettle started to shriek, and she grabbed for it, cursing at the noise under her breath. Dunking a tea bag into her mug, she walked over to the window and sat on the sill, staring at the stars while the tea steeped.

She brought the cup to her lips after a few minutes, spluttering at the taste of her first sip. She stared furiously into the steaming liquid as if it had betrayed her, because of _course_ she had had to grab _his_ tea, the (rather disgusting, at least in her opinion) expensive Russian blend that she never could learn to like, despite his many attempts to get her to develop a taste for it as he had. Her anger completely melted out of her at the memories that rushed through her in that moment, snapshots of what had once been.

She shook her head to clear it, turning and looking out the window at the stars. It was a clear night, unusual for where she lived, and the stars blinked and sparkled coldly in the distance, unfeeling, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Looking down at the street instead, she saw a dark figure in a long coat standing underneath a street lamp. Watching him a little more closely, she saw him turn, and she gasped, startled, then leaned closer to the glass to try to get a closer look. She bumped her forehead into the glass, and reared back to rub at it. When she turned again to look at the person under the lamp, he was gone. _What the heck? Where'd he go? I could have sworn…never mind, Chris, your eyes were just playing tricks on you. It couldn't possibly be him, you were just imagining a mask._

Her phone beeped then, alerting her that someone had texted. Picking it up, she saw that it was Meg, obviously still up, probably partying with…Ralph? Raoul? Ray? Something like that. The text read "Merry Christmas, Chris! Hay, that rymes! Lol". Chris smirked, not envying her friend the headache that she would surely wake up to. Her smile disappeared at the reminder of the day, though. Christmas Day. It used to be her favorite day of the year; waking up, opening gifts, watching those she loved open the ones she had gotten for them, the traditional Christmas Day breakfast of whatever dessert they had been eating the night before…not anymore. Not this year.

She shoved the images away, refusing to let them haunt her anymore. She looked around, at all the pictures still decorating the walls and her mantelpiece. With a sudden bolt of determination, she stood up, and began to clear away all of the photos of the two of them. She had actually started to make progress, when a knock at the door startled her out of her work. She stared at the wooden barrier for a moment, wondering who in the world could possibly be at her door at this time of the night. Looking at the clock, a jolt of annoyance flew through her. _Whoever this is, they're about to get an earful from me!_ She fumed, stomping to her door. She flung the bolt and threw the door open, fully prepared to unleash her wrath at the unfortunate soul on the other side, when she was stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of said poor soul's countenance.

A tall man with dirty blonde hair stood in her doorway. He was dressed elegantly, as if for a night out on the town, in a more casual style of suit, forgoing a tie. He was well-built, his muscles clearly defined even through the various layers of shirt and coat, but not stocky; simply in good shape. However, the most striking feature about him was the white mask covering the right side of his face. From behind the mask, a pair of gorgeous emerald green eyes stared out at her, drinking her in from head to toe, taking in her night attire of old ratty t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts that were no longer fit to see the light of day, yet too comfortable to be tossed away, covered with the fluffy cotton robe. His eyes traveled back up her body, meeting hers once again, and a single word fell from his lips.

"Christine."

She gestured for him to enter, and he followed her into the tiny living room, looking around at her efforts to erase any remnant of him. When he looked back at her, she had slumped into the couch, covering her face with both hands, seemingly resigned. "What are you doing here?" she finally asked quietly.

"I wanted to see you. No one should have to be alone on Christmas Day." Was his halting, uncertain reply.

She snorted, then looked up at him. "If you believe that, then why'd you leave? And for that matter, why did you come back? I thought you said that you never wanted to see me again." the razor-thin edge of her voice cut through every flimsy piece of emotional armor he had mistakenly assumed he had erected in their time apart.

He winced, then sighed. "Can I sit down?" at her nod, he seated himself on the footstool in front of her. He gulped, ran his hands through his hair, the looked up to see her expression; one eyebrow raised, a clear signal to hurry it up. Finally, he began, "I-I said some things, last time we saw each other, things that…I didn't truly mean. Things that I said in the heat of the moment, and came to bitterly regret when my head cooled and I went back to our argument."

At that, she cut him off. "Argument? I think that what happened goes far past an 'argument', Erik. You said the most horrible things to me, and called me such awful names. I have trouble believing that you would say such things without meaning them, even in 'the heat of the moment', as you say you did." She snapped, her rage clear to even the most dense and oblivious. He knew immediately that he would need to tread extremely lightly, lest he find himself out on the curb in front of her apartment in the dark, with tensions still unresolved between them, and certain hidden truths still unspoken.

"Christine, please, let me finish? You have every right to hate me, I know I would if I were in your position. I-I hate _myself_ , now, and I can't believe I ever said such terrible things to you, but, Christine, you can hate me and move on with your life, purge me from your memories and home; I, on the other hand, have to live with myself, and the memory of what I did, and every day, Christine, every day, I ask myself, 'what if I had just put my hand through the wall? What if I could have controlled my temper better? What if…'; there are so many 'what ifs', Christine, and they haunt me, night and day." He stopped there and looked at her, his beautiful green eyes now dark, and clouded with a thick veil of tears. Christine hid beneath a curtain of her hair, her own eyes filling to the brim and spilling over onto her pale skin. "Christine, please, forgive me for what I said that day. I hate myself for what happened, and I will regret those words, and what happened afterwards, until I go to my grave. God, Christine, I'm so sorry…please, even if you send me away and tell me never to come near you again, just say you forgive me." He begged.

She shook her head, choking back sobs. "It's not such an easy thing to forgive, Erik! You accused me of being a gold digger, using you as a free ticket to wealth and a comfortable lifestyle, and that I never really loved you! That it wasn't your _mistake_ , it was someone else's, and I was trying to use it to trap you into keeping me with you. But it wasn't my fault! What happened wasn't my fault, and maybe it was a mistake, but god help me, I can't bring myself to regret it." She looked straight into his eyes, the conviction in them apparent. "And I will not let you take this from me."

He collapsed to his knees before her, grasping her hands in his own, staring at their fingers, before laying a reverent kiss on hers. "Christine, I wouldn't dream of taking this from you. All I ask is…that you let me shoulder this burden with you. I-" she cut him off once again.

"A burden? Is this what I am to you now? What we are? I won't let you do this because of any stupid _obligation_ you might feel towards me, Erik. I won't be some charitable good deed. If you're determined to do this, it has to be because you truly want this. All of it. If you go through with it, it's permanent. I can't let you walk away when you decide that parenthood really doesn't suit you, and that you're better off without us. You can't walk away if you think it gets to be too much. You-" with that, he cut her off by pressing his lips hard against hers.

"You aren't telling me anything that I haven't thought about over and over again. And I swear to you, Christine, if you let me be a part of this child's life, and yours again, I won't ever let you regret it for even a moment." He whispered against her mouth, before covering it with his own again.

Christine let out one last tiny sob, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her. He caught her, pulling her into his lap and burying his face in her riotous curls, pressing her face into his broad shoulder. God, how he had missed this, missed how perfectly they fit together, her petite frame nestled into his strong one. Christine continued to sob softly, balling her fists into the back of his expensive coat. He shushed her, gathering her closer and moving them both to the couch. She continued to cry into his coat, releasing all of the emotions that had steadily been building up inside of her. Eventually, her tears dried out, and she calmed. She didn't release him, however, and he seemed even less inclined to let her go.

However, he broke the silence after a while, murmuring softly, "I'll be the best father I possibly can, Christine, I swear to you. And more than that, I swear that no matter what happens, I will always love you, more than words could ever describe. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you gave me the chance to be the man you deserve, the one that you seem to think I am, even if I can't see anything worth crying or grieving over. So, just…thank you." He concluded.

Christine half-smiled, peeking at him with one eye, the other still buried in the rough material of his coat. "I'm glad you came back. You'll be a fantastic father, Erik, I just know it. She'll adore you, just like I do. We'll be a family, just like you and I had talked about."

Erik suddenly straightened up, groping the pockets of his coat, while Christine looked at him in confusion. A moment later, he looked back at her, with something grasped in his fist. "I-I had been planning on giving this to you on Christmas Day before the fight, and afterwards, well…I never thought I'd have a chance to give it to you. But here we are, and I can't bear the thought of wasting any more time when I know that this is what I want. I can only hope that it's what you want too." With that, he uncurled his fist, revealing a tiny, black velvet box held within. Opening it, he revealed a beautiful engagement ring, with a slim silver band and a single, perfectly cut sapphire set within it. Petite, and easy to miss, yet elegant and beautiful. A perfect fit for the woman who's hand it was hopefully going to grace.

She stared at the ring for a moment, before looking at him again in disbelief. "Erik…are you serious?" she asked.

"Christine, I've never been more serious in my entire life. I want this more than anything, I swear to you. I want to make up for abandoning you, for all the mistakes I've made, if you'll still have me…" he trailed off, looking down the ring uncertainly. Fear started to fill his heart at her silence. What if this wasn't what she wanted? Marriage? They'd talked about it in the past, true, but that was before everything fell apart.

"Erik?" she asked. He looked up at her, to see her tremulous smile, accented by the tears once again filling her eyes. "Yes." She whispered.

"Yes?" he asked, needing to hear it again.

"Yes!" she laughed. "Yes, Erik, I will marry you!" she threw herself into his arms again, burrowing into him, clinging to him as tightly as he clutched her to him. Sheer joy and relief overflowed in his heart, and he knew that no further words needed to be spoken, at least not that night.

They fell asleep like that; curled up on the couch in the tiny apartment, clinging to one another, and both of their hearts finally at ease. The cup of tea made by mistake, however, never did get drunk.


End file.
